


Blood on the Concrete

by scientifically_unproven



Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom, 2p!hetalia - Fandom, 2ptalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 2P Hetalia, Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Cannibalism, Drugs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mentions of drugging, Schizophrenia, Stalking, Strangulation, Violence, idk if blood or violence is actually graphic, im not a good judge of that since i like hardcore stuff oops, implied PTSD, no actual 1p characters in fic, oh yeah almost forgot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28422006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scientifically_unproven/pseuds/scientifically_unproven
Summary: Allen has a stalker.
Relationships: 2P Russia/2P America, America/Russia (Hetalia), RusAme - Relationship
Kudos: 16





	Blood on the Concrete

**Author's Note:**

> Critique welcome, enjoy! :)

“Mattie, I think we’re being followed,” Allen said quietly under his breath, visible in the crisp chilly autumn air, “Don’t you?”

Mathieu spared a bored glance at his brother, not breaking stride in his heavy combat boots. “You’re just noticing?”

Allen had always been a bit on the paranoid side, but he always tried to keep up his cool demeanor. Often he had the distinct feeling of eyes boring into his back, a faint whisper of fabric swishing right behind him, the loud scuff of shoes. He’d never found anyone. When he was younger he would get ridiculed by Oliver, in his bright pink and purple mismatched patterned clothing and strawberry blonde hair and teal bow ties, who claimed it was the schizophrenia that ran in the family. Over time the repetition started to seem convincing, but Allen had the suspicion that many of his “delusions” were from the drugs his caretaker regularly put in their (admittedly delicious) food. 

Besides, wouldn’t someone say something if they felt watched? His brother, at least, was as observant as he was. “What do you mean, am I ‘just noticing’? You thought we were being followed and didn’t say anything?”

“Why would I say anything?”

“Because we’re being  _ followed _ ?”

“I thought you  _ knew _ this- I thought it was pretty obvious.”

Allen stopped walking to face his brother. When Mathieu didn’t immediately stop with him, uncaring, he grabbed his shoulder roughly. Mathieu crossed his arms impatiently,  _ always  _ above it all. Fuck him, this was  _ important _ ! Huffing, Allen punctuated his words with a jab against Mathieu’s chest. “If you feel like we’re being followed, I think it’s  _ pretty obvious _ you should  _ say  _ something.” To think Allen was having excessive paranoid delusions (as compared to what he considered an average amount) and drinking his worries away at night (more than he usually drinks).

Mathieu sneered and harshly slapped Allen’s hand away, his calm mask just slipping but he quickly schooled his face back into passivity. “Maybe you should learn to be a bit more observant.”

“You’re acting like you don’t  _ care _ !”

“Because I don’t.”

“We’re being  _ followed _ , Mattie. Someone could try to attack us.”

“Yeah, key words: try to.” Ignoring Allen’s bristling, he continued, “I know both of us are  _ more _ than capable of beating the shit out of whoever tries to fuck with us.”

Allen gave his brother a skeptical look but no longer looked ready to lunge at him anymore. Give it to Al to calm down by having his ego pet, even indirectly. 

“... Yeah, I guess you’re right. But aren’t you creeped out at all?” Allen shivered like the drama queen he was.

“No.” It was only a partially-bullshit answer. Of course he was creeped out, but he only felt that way when he was walking with him, so it wasn’t likely to be his problem. He didn’t need to know that, though- then he would find an excuse to go with Mathieu everywhere. Allen was such a goddamn crybaby sometimes, like when he had first learned Oliver was cooking them other people. He refused to eat anything that was meat for days (quickly remedied by punishment from their caretaker), but even now, years later and out of Oliver’s house, he avoided it as if someone was going to offer him breaded fingers. He claimed he didn’t eat meat because he was trying to be “healthy”, but Matthieu knew that was only part of the reason. Allen had long ago gotten used to eating people; Oliver would become furious when he refused to eat the food he cooked. Mathieu didn’t understand why Allen was so bothered, anyways. It’s a killed or get-killed world, and he respected that Oliver at least didn’t waste anything. His food was delicious, too.

“Of course you aren’t. Whatever.”

“You should be more worried about getting to Oliver’s. We’re both going to be  _ more _ than creeped out if we’re late to dinner, so get walking.” Without waiting for his brother to follow him, Mathieu resumed his earlier pace. Al could be late if he wanted to, but he wasn’t taking that chance with Oliver. He’d seen plenty of times what his punishments were like because of Al’s tendency to be a little shit.

Still pissed and sulking, Allen didn’t immediately follow. He had dealt with Oliver’s bad moods before, and although it was never fun, Al wasn’t exactly in a rush to be there early. They had plenty of time anyways and wanted to be around him as little as possible. The last time he had been late for a meal was over a month ago, and Oliver had only drawn blood after drugging and slapping him around. He’d done much worse in the past and Al was positive Oliver would be forgiving- maybe even pamper him if he explained that they had a stalker. He was very protective (in the way someone would be protective of their property) of Mattie and him. Actually- thinking about it, he would be furious that Al had let his brother walk alone if they suspected a stalker. Shit. Mathieu had already disappeared from view while Allen was too busy fuming to pay attention- he hoped he would be taking the usual route.

Allen started into a jog only to fall back into a fast walk as he turned the corner. He didn’t want to seem too eager to catch up. Glancing around the street found Mathieu to be nowhere in sight. How long had Al been sulking? He couldn’t have gotten too far (he hoped), but if Mattie had gone a different way he wouldn’t be able to find him anyways. He’d have to get to the house earlier to walk in with him- luckily he was still familiar with all the routes he could take. As a kid, he would explore every nook and cranny of everywhere he went. He made a point of knowing where to duck out of sight when he (often) pushed Oliver’s buttons too far.

The next alleyway should shave a few minutes off his time, since Mattie always vehemently refused going through them unless absolutely necessary. The distinct lack of cleanliness in the city made them an unpleasant shortcut, but Allen was used to it by now. He can’t complain about the putrid smell of piss when on many occasions he was a contributor to it (pridefully including  _ this _ alleyway). As for the garbage- he couldn’t do much about that aside from disposing of any litter in the nearest dumpster, but he also wasn’t super eager about touching slimy who-knows-what. It would make his hands smell, so Oliver certainly wouldn’t be appreciative of it either.

Seeing the alley was clean (of anything dangerous, it still reeked of garbage and piss and weed with the large dumpsters, garbage, and side-doors used for smoke breaks), Allen briskly started his walk down it, but slowed when he noticed new graffiti since the last time he had been there. The art was his favorite part of alleyways that people didn’t seem to care much about. He leaned in closely to inspect the art, but not close enough to accidentally touch the grimy dumpster that it was awkwardly positioned over. He passively hoped the artist hadn’t climbed on or in the dumpster to reach it, unlikely that something that large would have been moved out of the way. Right over it there was a colorful face in neon colors with years inscribed in black underneath it, a tribute to a loved one with a few smaller tags around it. His throat tightened, emotion forcing its toxic-ly tender tendrils into his blood to squeeze his heart. Allen wondered how the person had died and what they had meant to the people who created it. No matter how he died, his family would never do the same for him. They were obviously fond of the person, after all, to create something so beautiful.

It was a shame that graffiti was considered a crime.

Allen stepped closer to the wall and heard a squelch before he felt something  _ lumpy _ underneath his nicer pair of shoes that he wore specifically for dinners. Tearing his eyes away from the graffiti, he looked down to his feet to see he stepped on something slimy... it would be a bad idea to inspect closely. “Fuck.” He lifted his foot out of the substance and took a step back. It would take some determined scrubbing to get it off. Hopefully it didn’t smell  _ too _ bad, but it was hard to tell in the already putrid alley. He sighed and futilely tried to wipe his shoe of  _ whatever  _ the fuck it was. God damn his tendencies to get distracted (and disgustingly  _ emotional _ ). If he was going to make it to dinner on time, let alone intercept Mattie on the way, he would just have to deal with it at Oliver’s house and figure out an excuse on the way. Taking one last glance at the secluded mural-

A burst of pain jolted through his skull as the gritty and filthy pavement came up to meet him. His clothes were going to be soiled, a large hand was tightly gripping his ankle, he was going to be late, and Oliver was going to be  _ furious _ . Recovering from the immediate shock,  _ there was a large hand gripping his ankle  _ and he needed to get up  _ right now.  _ He blinked lingering spots out of his eyes and braced his hands against the rough ground to push up, breathing through the pain that was shooting though his body.

Another slam of his brought another wave of pain through his skull, momentarily losing his vision. Vaguely he recognized the red in front of him was his own blood, from where he guessed he had hit the ground. A heavy weight- a person,  _ someone _ , was resting on his back, pushing his head against the ground. Quicker to recover from the shock this time, Allen tried to buck whoever was resting on his back, to turn his head enough to see his assailant, to do  _ anything _ \- but whoever was on him was not only heavy, but  _ strong. _

“Get  _ off _ me, asshole!” he managed to spit out, “I’ll kill you!”

An amused huff came from above him.

“You think this is  _ funny _ ?” the attacker huffed again as his other hand wrapped gently around Allen’s throat. “Who do you think you are?!” The body over him became flush with his own as his arm slithered around his throat and wrapped  _ tight,  _ blocking his airway. Allen struggled with renewed vigor, uncharacteristic pure panic running through his veins as his heart beat painfully hard in his ears. Why didn’t Mattie wait for him? Why didn’t he just follow Mattie? Damn it, Allen was so helpless-  _ useless _ , he was going to  _ die _ in this alleyway that he previously regarded fondly, beauty and peace in an otherwise disgusting place, and he won’t get a mural, or a funeral, or mourning, no one will even care he’s missing (aside from the impoliteness of missing arrangements) because his family didn’t  _ love _ . Vision fading, tears threatened to spill from his eyes. If he did survive this, this alley would only serve as a painful memory of emotional weakness.

The hand on his head pet his hair in a cruel mockery of gentleness as Allen became limp and blacked out.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction and I'm an art person but drawing comics takes a really long time and i also need to figure out how i want to characterize them and there's not enough 2p rusame content but I'm also really embarrassed for anyone I know to read my writing and know that I wrote it. I made this account just to post fics.  
> so if you know who wrote this, NO YOU DON'T. ;)


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